The Outside
by D.M.O 452
Summary: What happens to one of the X5's who got out after the manticore facility was burned down. Takes place after bag em. PLEASE REVIEW! Even if you think it sucks.
1. Thievery

Rating: R  
  
| The black steel baton came flying towards his eyes, filling his field of   
vision, slamming into his face like a freight train. He could feel the force of the blow   
slamming his head backwards, accompanied by a mercilessly intense explosion of pain   
emanating from his nose. It was as if a great big thunderbolt had struck him, a soundless   
boom inundated his ears as a soft, indistinct crack echoed in a barely registered tone.   
Which of course, was from the bones in his nose. A thick, watery splurt of blood shot out   
of his nostrils and rolled down his lips. He tasted the ever familiar saltiness of it mingled   
with mucus. "You stupid degenerate piece of crap!" he barely had time to recover from   
the previous blow before the next one landed on his chin, igniting a brand new flare of   
pain. "You call yourself a soldier! What the fuck is wrong with you! Don't you have any   
respect for yourself! For your unit! For your duty!" Another vicious blow landed on his   
knee. "State your designation, you worthless sack of shit!" Gasping, he muttered the   
words partly in exhaustion, partly in terror. "X5-364, Sir!" He was rewarded with another   
blow to the cheek.   
  
By now he had blood running down his face from multiple injuries on his   
forehead, mouth, and eyes, and a face covered in a curtain of swollen, bloated black and   
blue marks. "Louder! You disgrace us with your pitiful weakness!" "X5-364, SIR!"   
"Answer me 364! Do you care to explain why a worthless cock sucking piece of SHIT   
such as yourself failed to obey the orders of your TAC leader?" "Sir, would you let me...."  
Yet another strike landed in his gut, cutting off his breath and causing him suck in his   
stomach in an effort to dull the burning pain. "I see you haven't run out of pitiful excuses   
for the failing of your duty. Sergeant, bring out the electrodes and water......."|  
  
He awoke with a start, the side of his face scraping against the dirty old   
mattress as scrambled to tear his head from it. |Shit.| Bad dreams again. So many   
nightmares, so many memories he'd kill to forget. He thought that once he got out of that   
hell the nocturnal horrors would cease, but they continued on, seemingly getting worse as   
time passed. He was only eight when that episode occurred. He noticed his heavy   
breathing, and the thin trickle of sweat running down one side of his face, past his dark   
almond brown pupils and the smooth not quite white skin. Fear raced through his heart,   
along with something else. Anger. No. Hate. Rage. He wish he could take a thousand   
carving knives to the faces of each and every one of those bastards, crush their bones and   
set them ablaze with the very force of his rage.   
  
What he wouldn't give to let those soldiers be the ones receiving the   
beatings and torture for a change, let the sick motherfuckers in the long white lab coats be   
the subjects of their own twisted experiments. He wanted to hurt them, maul them,   
torment them endlessly and without respite, so that they could suffer like he did and 100   
times over. He wished it never happened to him. None of it. To any of them. He wished he   
could have been normal, he wished he had a family who loved him, he wished he could   
have lived on the outside all that time. He wished, he wished, he wanted.... |Ah, fuck it   
soldier. Bullshit sentimentality has never got you anywhere before, and it won't start now.|   
  
Through a lifetime of endless, unrelenting training and painful experience,   
he developed a remarkably precise internal clock, much like the others in his unit. He   
accessed that clock now, and discovered that he had been asleep for close to five hours.   
Looking at the sky outside of the abandoned apartment, he saw that night had come. By   
his best estimate, it was 0900. His stomach groaned and gnawed at him with a aching pain   
that had dulled since he had gone to sleep. Good. He could be thankful for that small   
mercy. He rose slowly to his knees, the hunger pangs in his stomach slipping out of his   
consciousness for a moment. Lifted a dirty, grease and blood stained hand to his equally   
wretched face. Brushed his oily black hair upwards as he shut his eyes and rubbed his   
forehead to soothe a dying headache. He sat back down for a few seconds. |Well, you   
wanna eat tomorrow or not? Yes? Than proceed with the mission.| X5-364 pulled himself   
to his feet, a sense of hope and purpose re-igniting his determination. His muscles sprang   
back to life and rapidly increased to full power as he walked, then half-sprinted down the   
hallway, down the stairs, and into the seedy, trash strewn streets of Seattle.   
  
His target sat on 24th street, a simple one story, darkened building that cast   
long shadows onto the crumbling sidewalk. The popping of gunshots and the wailing of   
sirens echoed faintly in the distance. A teenage junky lay sprawled against the side of the   
building, only half conscious, whatever shit in his system lulling his senses into   
nothingness. X5-364 made his way cautiously through the small heaps of garbage littering   
the ancient road. A billowing newspaper wrapped itself around his leg, prompting him to   
kick it away, sending it on it's lonely way down the streets of a forsaken wasteland. Hopes   
and dreams of the people here had floated away ages before. This part of the city was in   
wretched shape before the pulse, and now it was a living hell filled with predators and   
scavengers, rats scurrying across the face of the desolate landscape. He approached the   
seemingly empty and darkened shop with care, transgenic eyes piercing easily through the   
pitch darkness of interior, enhanced senses on alert for any guardians. He reached the   
padlocked door, the wood peeling off in strips, rotting away.   
  
Despite the ugliness and overpoweringly obvious poverty surrounding the   
establishment, the store itself had a shiny new coat of paint on it's sides, something that   
couldn't be said for most of the businesses in this district. Which meant it was doing fairly   
well, and a good target for thieves. He looked around once and pulled a set of makeshift   
tools from the black leather jacket he acquired from a unsuspecting mugger who assaulted   
him the day before. He inserted one of the smaller tools into the lock, fiddled with it for a   
bit, and smiled as the lock clicked and opened. The now useless lock fell and clattered on   
the pavement as he slowly eased the door open and stepped into dark confines of the   
room. He failed to notice a solitary figure standing by the edge of the building across the   
street, watching him in eerie silence.  
  
The owner was busy checking the inventory in the back section of the large   
room, surrounded by various strange looking goods hanging from the walls and on the   
store shelves. There was a newly installed alarm system which the X5 had disabled earlier   
in the day. The owner continued to scroll through the list, pausing to curse or take a drag   
from the cigarette he held in one hand. He never noticed 364's presence until the latter's   
hands pressed down on the pressure points of his neck. The mostly bald, 40ish man   
collapsed into on the dusty storeroom floor, head making a soft thunk. 364 pulled the   
desert eagle .357 from the man's waist, examined the weapon for a brief moment, then   
tucked it into the waist of his jeans. He then checked the merchandise surrounding him. A   
potpourri of legal and illegal products, ranging from shampoo to MRE's to knives and   
handguns. Stacks of pornography lay on one shelf, condoms on another. He helped   
himself to another pistol off the shelf, a glock .45. He searched around a bit more and   
procurred as much ammo as he could carry for each weapon without making his pant   
pockets rattle like the armor of a medieval knight.   
  
Flipped through a couple girlie magazines, smiled and gave out a snort of   
derision. |They always fed us crap about the outsiders and their perversion.| Shots of men   
doing things with women, women with other women. Some included animals as well. He   
dropped the magazine to the floor and headed for the back room behind the counter.   
  
The small room he entered smelled absolutely bizarre. It was putrid and   
overpowering with the scent of some exotic substance he had never before encountered.   
Of course, that could be said of a lot of things, considering he'd only been out of   
Manticore a total of 6 times, not counting this one, and never into a urban area like this   
one. He soon discovered the origin. Shelves and tables throughout the room contained jars   
filled with cocaine, crack cocaine, and other unidentifiable powdery substances. The odor   
filled his nostrils, making him want to wretch in disgust. He'd walked into a fucking   
amateur drug factory. Heroin was being cooked up in kitchen pots on the stove at the   
right side of the room. Needles, pipes, and assorted drug paraphernalia littered the tables.   
He remembered the young addict camped out by the side of the building. |Apparently I'm   
robbing the largest supply of recreational medicine in the neighborhood. Who would have   
thought.| Made sense though. The money for that security system and the new paint job   
had to come from somewhere. Scanning the messy, chaotic space, he found no cash or   
equipment he could use. The owners bedroom lay behind the door next to the stove, and   
he kicked it open, busting the chain link lock in half and flinging some broken bits of it   
into the room.   
  
The bedroom was old and dusty, but relatively clean compared to the rest   
of the store. A five level drawer lay on one side of the bed, topped with an alarm clock   
and a watch. A new plasma screen TV sat by the western end. Next to that a somewhat   
dirty window, taken hold of by bits of grime. In the bedside cabinet he found a tall bottle   
of Jack Daniel's, 3 packs of Marlboro's, and a key chain. He took a lingering look at the   
surroundings, clothes strewn messily onto a straight back chair, old pizza crusts and   
Chinese food on the new desk. There was a closed closet to the left of him, near the door.   
In it he discovered a sturdy metal safe on the middle section. A minute or two later, the   
safe clicked and the door swung open. 364 snorted in disgust. Too damn easy. They   
trained him way too good to be knocking over some shithole with this kind of half assed   
security. To his profound delight, the safe was full of fresh smelling, crisp dollar bills. His   
mind did a quick count, and came up with the number $120,000. In 50's and 20's. |Shit.   
Not bad, soldier, not bad.|   
  
And then he heard the mind shattering click of a gun being aimed at the   
back of his head, and his muscles transformed into ice. |Fuck.|   
  
  
AN: I'm dissatisfied with plot so far, and hopefully I can pick up the pace   
somehow in the next chapter. It's been awhile since my last fic, and I'm trying to create   
my own storylines and characters instead of relying on those from the show. As always,   
feedback is more than welcome. Tell me where you want me to take this. 


	2. Sole Surviviors

Rating: R  
  
X5-364 felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He analyzed his   
options within the space of a second. He could do nothing, and wait for the hostile to   
make the next move. It was more than likely that his adversary lacked proper training and   
skills and would make some stupid mistake, allowing him to gain control of the situation.   
Then again, he or she might pull the trigger now and blow his fool head off. His muscles   
tensed in the milliseconds that followed, preparing to spin around and snatch the weapon   
from his opponent's grasp. His breathing intensified ever so slightly and he could sense the   
small surge of adrenaline rocketing through his veins.   
  
"Put your hands on your head. Now!"  
  
The voice stopped him. That voice, it's distinct tone, that pitch, that echo,   
the slight hiss that went with it whenever the person it belonged to was pissed, he could   
recognize it anywhere. It took him awhile to realize who it was. Christ, he thought she had   
disappeared from his life forever. Never would he have suspected that she was not only   
still kicking, but here in Seattle with him, and wind up pointing a gun at his head as he   
was busy robbing a drug peddler's home.   
  
"X5-672?"  
  
The young woman froze, reduced pressure on the trigger about a   
centimeter. Her eyes popped open in shock as her lips parted to ask the question.  
  
"364? Is that you?" The smooth young voice trembled with anticipation   
and uncertainty.  
  
"Yeah." He said nonchalantly, a overjoyed grin slowly forming on his face.   
  
"Holy shit."   
  
He spun around to face her, her beautiful, silky yet hard features filling his   
vision once again. They slammed back into his consciousness, re-stamping the image of   
her face in his mind with indelible ink. Deep dark brown eyes, somewhat like his, but   
rounder, bigger. Perfectly shaped nose, thin soft lips. Jet black hair cut short, worn like a   
crown that covered her ears and went down to the point where the neck ended into the   
upper back, enough to cover the barcode but not enough to be impractical. The last time   
he saw this face was back in the woods, bullets flying all around them, her lying on the   
ground. Face a agonized grimace due to the searing pain coursing like venom through her   
left leg.   
  
She put the gun away. They clung to each other in a tight embrace. His   
chin rested on 672's shoulder as her fingernails pressed hard against his back.   
  
"What the hell happened to you? Thought you were dead."  
  
"So did I. Long story. Maybe later. Mind if I have some of that cash?"  
  
"Mind saying please?"  
  
"Please."  
  
His hands reached into the safe and started pulling out large chunks of the   
fresh green bills. She helped him out, slender, somewhat delicate hands snatching the   
dough greedily. They tossed the money into a large empty trash bag she found in the   
corner of the room. Hoisting the sack over his shoulders like Santa Claus, he followed her   
out the back door of the building. They trotted down the street, the wind ruffling their   
hair. 364's mind was enclosed in it's own little world, which 672 played a major part in.   
He was oblivious to his surroundings, past events playing out in his head. Running. Shouts   
and gunshots. Fear, adrenaline. The words of his trainers played fast-forward through his   
mind. A thought of hope struck him.  
  
He opened his mouth, stumbled with the words, making awkward noises.   
He slowly forced the question out. "The others..... I mean... did anyone else make it?"   
  
She stopped suddenly. Damn. Knew he shouldn't have asked. She said   
nothing for a few seconds, and without turning, gave a slight shake of the head. "I saw   
their bodies being stuffed into bags. We're the only ones."   
  
He turned his head downwards, staring at the concrete for a minute. There   
was nothing that needed saying. They continued moving, and icy silence engulfed them   
like a wave.   
  
As they got into sight of the sector 3 to sector 4 checkpoint, about 12   
minutes walk from the store, he finally got around to asking the question he didn't have an   
answer to. "Where are we going?"   
  
" I've got a place on the lower east part of sector 4. That okay with you?"  
  
He nodded, diverting his eyes to his surroundings. Hookers hanging out   
under the pale light of lampposts, drug dealers scoping for potential customers. A torn   
basketball lying in the gutter, where urine mixed with water and flowed into the ravaged   
sewer system. Graffitti sprayed like paint across walls and broken down cars that were the   
homes of some of the worst off. A couple of Seattle's finest were laughing as they beat a   
homeless man in a passing alleyway, ignoring his cries for mercy. The cops at the gate   
watched in half-hearted interest, taking long drags from cigarettes, reminiscing on their   
day to day misery and bantering about the shittiness of their jobs and superiors. A rank   
odor filled the air, what smelled like rotten fish mixed with the stench of unwashed bodies   
and garbage.   
  
Some homeless kids, their bodies sickly thin and faces pale as death,   
watched them as they passed by. A mobster's stretch limousine cruised arrogantly up to   
the checkpoint, oblivious towards the suffering and degradation of the neighborhood,   
however responsible the occupants within may be for it. It paused only a few seconds at   
the checkpoint, then continued on it's way, leaving transparent fumes in it's wake.   
Meanwhile, the two transgenics swept swiftly and silently around the guard shacks, every   
movement with a unparalleled ease and calmness. They were on the other side and out of   
sight before the guards turned around.   
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
672 had a nice little 4 room apartment in one of the cleaner neighborhoods   
of the sector. Light gray walls with bits of paint peeling off of them, a floor that was a   
little dusty, an overhead light in the main room. Sparsely furnished, a couch lay on one   
side, fridge on the other, small TV perched on top of a dresser. He walked around slowly,   
examining the place some more. The closet held another jacket in addition to the one 672   
was wearing, and a old wood door lead to a bedroom with a double sized mattress, and a   
clear view of the streets behind the building. Peering out the window, 364 could see the   
rusty metal balcony with stairs leading to the street. With two exits, one of them being   
down the long hallway and a flight of stairs, the place wasn't the most secure area to hole   
up in, but it was half decent, as far as living standards went. The two other rooms   
consisted of a kitchen with a table, stove, oven, and the usual necessities of life. The   
bathroom was somewhat cramped, and had mildew stains on the shower wall.   
  
He centered his head to look at her, eyes meeting hers as she crossed her   
arms and stared at him expectantly. "Well? What do you think?"  
  
"I think somebody's been pretty damn busy. How the hell did you get this   
place?"  
  
"Previous owner was stabbed to death in a mugging down in sector 1. No   
landlord or anything, everyone who crashes here are squatting. We get together to pay off   
the sleazebag cops every month. I came across this place a few days after I got away,   
figured it was as good a shelter as I was likely to run across. You get some privacy since   
the neighbors don't interact much, and no one asks questions. Plus I get to keep most of   
the furniture and whatever the previous resident left behind."  
  
364 suddenly noticed the growling of his empty stomach again. It hurt   
worse than before, a steadily rising ache that sapped him of his strength and made it hard   
to think straight. The fury of it was driving him insane. He needed something to *eat.*   
672 noticed his hand rubbing his famished stomach. She opened the fridge and started   
laying out containers of food at random. He stared for a second, then dove into it like the   
starving wreck that he was, tearing open a package of bread and devouring it half a slice at   
a time. After he finished about a quarter of the loaf, he slowed down and took the time to   
swallow, a little embarrassed as he scraped in a piece of crust that was hanging from his   
lip. He moved on to a large helping of chicken wings, salad, and lunch meat. He washed it   
all down with the large supply of bottled water she kept. She waited patiently and without   
comment. The burning ache in his belly faded away, replaced by a heavy, bloated   
sensation. He leaned back and burped loudly. The transgenic's breath came in deep,   
wheezing intakes of air.   
  
"Now that you've eaten half the food in my fridge..." she grunted, irritation   
creeping into her voice "..... why don't you get yourself cleaned up?"  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"I mean take a shower already, you smell like crap." She pinched her nose   
and smiled slightly, other hand pointing him to the bathroom.   
  
  
"So, what happened back there?" His body smelled fresh, his skin felt moist   
and clean. He had changed into a black T shirt and dark blue jeans the previous tenant had   
left behind.  
  
She took a deep breath. Her mind made a painful shift back to the events of   
two weeks ago, the night the bastards tried to burn down the base.... and them with it.  
  
"I remember...."   
  
|Flames and smoke filled her vision, the charcoal smell of the fire burning   
away at the walls inflamed her nostrils. She pounded her fists against the door with all her   
strength, tearing open the skin of her knuckles. The sound of screaming soldiers locked in   
their cells inundated her ears, fueling the grim terror inside of her chest. The voices were   
all mixed together, high pitch with deep pitch, male with female, bellows of rage mingled   
with shrieks of fear and desperation. The louder, deeper sounds of fellow X5's   
accompanied by the softer, younger cries of X6. She could even hear the bestial roars of   
the anomalies coming from the lower levels in faint, transient echoes. She was now   
viciously kicking the area of the door that had the ultra dense steel bolts, the horror and   
rage of being left to die this way shooting white hot adrenaline through her muscles. A   
thin sheen of hot sweat rolled down her throat and back. In the recesses of her mind, she   
knew it was no use, the fucking door wouldn't give if there were three of her in there. She   
was going to die, slowly, horribly. Inwardly, she prayed that the fumes would get her   
before the raging flames did..... "NOOO!" "OPEN, DAMN YOU YOU PIECE OF SHIT   
OPE----"   
  
She didn't believe in God or any sort of spiritual deity, but it was a miracle   
that seemed to suggest there was someone listening up there. The bolts of the door   
suddenly snapped back and unlocked, and the thick silvery barrier opened up to reveal a   
hallway filled with smoke and murderously intense heat. She charged out, limbs moving   
faster than she could imagine, only the run down the hall seemed to last for an eternity.   
She could feel the presence of the others running alongside of her, each of them fleeing for   
their lives. 672 didn't need to slow down to figure out where she was going, the layout of   
the base was something you didn't forget when you lived there your entire existence.   
Somewhere along the way, she bumped into 364. Panting, then coughing on the thick dark   
gray smoke, he latched onto her hand and pulled her towards the nearest exit. They   
dashed through the maze of the barracks, bursting through several doors, following those   
ahead of them. The gray-blue corridors were lit bright red and flickers of orange, black as   
tobacco where the flames were furiously peeling it away.   
  
When they finally got out, she sucked in the cold, fresh nighttime air and   
felt relief wash over her skin as the rushing air cooled her sweaty body. She looked to the   
left and saw her C.O, X5-586 gathering the rest of their squad, amid a frenzy of shouting   
and frantic hand signals. They ran up to join them, energy renewed by the sight of familiar   
faces, of family. Some of them were starting to panic, bombarding 586 with questions she   
could not answer, shouting wildly.|  
  
"---anyway, you know that part already. She had us all stick together, stay   
with the unit."  
  
"Bad move."  
  
"Yeah, she should have split us up into three's or something. At least then   
most of us would still be alive."  
  
"Not her fault, really. We were family. She wanted us to stick together,   
there'd be no way to track each other down if she divided us."  
  
"I'm not really blaming her, it's just... I don't, a stupid decision, I guess.   
For once I wished that she'd follow what they taught us, use military logic instead of   
following her heart."  
  
He looked down, then stared at her as she leaned against the table. "That's   
what we always loved her for. She cared about keeping us together, acted on what she felt   
for us rather then what they said was logical. None of us were ever expendable."  
  
"And now she's gone."  
  
He exhaled sharply, narrowing his eyes as he turned to the side. "Yeah."  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
|They were all headed for Seattle. Together, that was. They had gotten a   
good 15 miles away from the site when they spotted a large contingent of regular army   
troops coming after them. Too many to deal with. Unarmed and unable to fight, they did   
the only thing they could.... they ran like hell. It seemed easy to get away, they moved   
infinitely faster, booted feet blazing their way through the trees, leaving light imprints on   
the forest floor. 672 weaved sideways and around bends in the dark foilage, making it   
harder to follow any tracks. The others were doing the same, calmly ignoring the few   
sporadic bursts of gunfire that came nowhere near their targets. It was easy. A little too   
easy. It should have tipped them off that there was a welcome committee waiting on the   
other side of the bridge they came to. Both her and 364 got within sight of the bridge   
clearing in time to see 214 literally get torn apart by a angry, buzzing swarm of high   
velocity rounds. The bullets tore massive chunks of flesh from her chest and abdomen,   
shredding the internal organs into confetti, tearing off the lower part of the left arm and   
leaving a crooked hole where the face used to be. The now lifeless body of 214 dropped   
to it's knees, strips of dark red flesh dangling over the hole in her face you could see   
straight through, and fell forward into the grass already soaked crimson with gore.   
  
Someone screamed in horror and rage, it might have been her, it might   
have been 586 as she suddenly stood right behind them, looking at what was left of 214   
and at the bastards who just killed her. Over two dozen heavily armed troops stood at the   
other side of the bridge, weapons and uniforms glistening in the bright sunlight, flanked by   
trucks mounted with .50 caliber machine guns. Some carried M79 grenade launchers, the   
pitch black holes that were their barrels pointing at the other side of the concrete walled   
bridge.   
  
The barrel of a grenade launcher popped and made a whooshing sound as   
the projectile was fired and sent sailing through the air, heading towards the transgenics   
clustered in a circle.   
  
Although her mind was still frozen in silent screams at the sight of one her   
family being blown apart, 672's bodily reactions were fortunately much more responsive   
to the situation. She was already moving by the time the explosive reached the apex of it's   
flight, despite the absence of any conscious thought on her part. Her entire form   
transformed into a untrackable blur which dived behind a thick tree. The deafening   
explosion shot shrapnel across every inch of their side of the bridge, piercing into the   
bodies of two more of the X5's who responded too late to reach cover. The heat seared   
her back and face, making her recoil in pain. The air erupted with gunfire, jagged white   
hot lead ripping through the foilage, mercilessly stabbing into the bodies of the transgenics   
as they scattered for cover. They started to speed back the way they came, but the troops   
in that direction were suddenly upon them like ravenous wolves, brutally mowing down   
those who tried. She saw 586 rush toward the bridge to help someone shot in the leg, only   
to have both of them quickly riddled with .50 cal shots.   
  
All around her those she loved were dying, their screams echoing through   
the lush greenery of the trees. Her body was utterly paralyzed, her mind kept screaming   
orders to move, but the limbs didn't respond. 672 closed her eyes, unable to witness the   
massacre. Somewhere in all the chaos, a bullet found it's way into the tendons of her leg.   
She almost screamed as blinding pain burned it's way through the shredded tissue, but bit   
her tongue sharply, almost drawing blood. Eventually the gunfire died down, leaving a   
haunting stillness in the air, punctuated by the cries of birds and the beating of wings.   
  
She opened her eyes halfway to see 364 miraculously alive and fleeing to   
the east like a freight train, a tiny, barely visible figure she could only recognize when she   
used her enhanced vision to zoom in on it. In a second he was gone, never looking back, a   
shooting star vanishing from view.   
  
Then she felt a rifle barrel pressed against her chest, and she shut her eyes   
again, waiting for death to fly out of the muzzle.|  
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
  
364 stood with stony silence at the other side of the table. "Well? What   
then?"  
  
She remained silent and perfectly still for a moment, mouth numb, ears   
deaf.  
  
"You're still here aren't you? You must have gotten away somehow. What   
happened?"  
  
She took a deep breath, moved to the fridge, pulled out a bottle of water   
and poured herself a cup. The icy coldness of it cooled the feverish burning in her brain,   
letting her concentrate enough to talk again.  
  
"They took me back to their field base, strapped me to a hospital bed, put   
me under. I thought the fuckers were going to cut me open for study, but I woke up hours   
later, feeling like shit, thirsty and hungry as hell." She frowned, expression becoming   
agitated. "Thing is... there was something after that, but I can't seem to remember what it   
was..... the more I try to remember, the more my memories go blank...."  
  
"There was this guy in charge, 30 something cold hearted bastard the   
others called White. He wasn't military, dressed in civies, looked like some kind of   
government goon, NSA, CIA, that kind of thing. He transferred me to a cell and left me   
there for a day or so. During the night, one of the doctors got the keys and let me out.   
Guess he felt sorry for me, I guess. Strange thing was, there were no guards around. None   
whatsoever, except for a few just lying around at the other side of the camp, talking and   
joking and not doing much. The whole damn camp was asleep or somewhere else. Got   
fucking lucky, I guess. I slipped out, traveled along the streams and through the woods,   
took an alternate route to get around checkpoints and throw them off. Stole supplies like   
water and clothing, hitched a couple of rides, and made it to Seattle about two and a half   
weeks ago. And here I am."  
  
"Hell of a ride."  
  
"Too bad we're the only ones who made it."  
  
He couldn't think of anything to say. Minutes ticked by on the rusty old   
kitchen clock. She wasn't talking either. The silence, he supposed, was the best eulogy   
they could offer for those loved and now dead and gone. Words couldn't do them justice,   
not in a million years.   
  
She broke the silence. "This place isn't safe. We need to get out of the   
country. Canada's our best bet. But we'll need help first, someone with money and   
connections."  
  
"You have any suggestions?"  
  
"Remember that guy everyone was talking about? The journalist who tried   
to expose Manticore?"  
  
"Eyes Only?" 


End file.
